Befitting a King
by Blaze Moonlight
Summary: Companion/sequel to 'Actions of Kings'. Sorcery and sudden vengeance – Peter's point of view upon the encounter with the witch in Aslan's How and a reconsideration of his own actions since returning to Narnia.


He'd waited, as was _proper_, until every last one of his men had been checked over and had their injuries dealt with – even the ones who had to be ordered into relinquishing their pride long enough to confess to their wounds, before retreating into one of the lesser used rooms of the how. He still furious with Caspian for his failure, but they now needed a new plan and it was his role, as High King, to come up with it.

Peter was certain how long he'd sat there wracking his brain for some idea, some spark, or some memory of a way that they could defeat the Telmarines. Invading their base had failed and only a fool would try and face them in an open battle when the Narnians were so drastically outnumbered. It felt like hours. Hours upon hours sat there gazing blankly at the wall, unable to think of anything. Later he would realise that it had been foolish for him to try and plan anything at all, his mind clouded with anger as it was, but that afternoon he sat in silent frustration for what seemed like an eternity.

He wouldn't have _needed_ to be thinking of a new plan were it not for Caspian. Were it not for the Narnians he wouldn't be _trying _to think of a new plan. Why should he sit there, desperately trying to devise a way to give Caspian a kingdom which the boy couldn't lead and didn't deserve? His clenched his fists. _He _was King. But the Narnians didn't want that. They wanted Caspian - for some unfathomable reason. The Narnians had been tricked into wanting a king who couldn't lead them, who couldn't create a plan, and who didn't even stay with his soldiers to ensure their wounds were dealt with.

It was too much.

To return to Narnia had been his dream in England and he'd loathed the fact that his dream was being held out of reach. Now, now he had reached what he had been dreaming of, only to find that it had been mangled, ruined. Instead of dancing trees and merriment and the peaceful and prosperous nation that he raised and led, he was in a land of despots and murders where the trees lay silent and the people lived in fear, looking to a child for leadership.

_A child_. That was all Caspian was. He might have looked the same age as Peter but he didn't have even half of the experience. Returning to England had sapped Peter's strength as it thrust him back into his adolescent body and his Narnian memories had faded some, his thought processes and moods more teen than adult, but he was still a king who had fought battles and won wars and…

It was like a punch to the jaw. He should have _anticipated_. Just because _Peter _had never gone chasing his own agenda mid-battle that didn't mean Caspian wouldn't. Caspian was a hot head – what a fool Peter had been to think that such a sheltered tearaway of a Prince could be depended on as part of a plan. He was the High King, the leader, he should have compensated for Caspian.

His ears pricked suddenly and he leapt to his feet. He knew not what the sound was that he had heard but he knew that is was not the sound of an ally which echoed from the chamber of the stone table. If there was an intruder in the How then it was a time for action. He could continue planning later.

His hand on the hilt of his sword he walked in the direction of the stone table, nearly drawing on Trumpkin in his surprise when he stumbled across the dwarf heading in the same direction.

"What's going off?"

Peter shrugged. "I heard an odd noise from the direction of the table…"

Trumpkin frowned. "A person shouldn't trust odd noises. They rarely bode well, especially not coming from places like that table. I suppose that's what you're going wandering about for?"

Peter nodded his assent. "I assume you're with me?"

"Course," grumbled the dwarf, "Can't expect the trouble to just solve itself for us every once in a while can we? We'll have to go take a look."

Peter gave a strained half smile and carried on. He'd liked Trumpkin almost from the start, the dwarf might have irritable and somewhat prickly but he was also straightforward and honest – two of the traits Peter admired the most.

More startling than his encounter with Trumpkin was his encounter with Edmund. He'd not planned on stopping to converse with his brother, not when there were things to investigate in the stone table chamber, but Edmund's firm order for him to 'wait' triggered an urge to pause.

Peter tempted to ignore him, after all Edmund had no right to be giving _him _orders, but his curiosity as to exactly _why _his younger brother was pressed up against a wall outside of the chamber of the stone table won out. "What are you doing?"

Edmund just shushed him with a meaningful look and gestured to the entrance to the chamber, just out of sight around the bend. Peter, with a flash of understanding, fell silent and strained his ears to hear the happenings in the chamber.

"…circle be drawn!"

Peter's brows furrowed as he listened to the unfamiliar voice begin to chant in a strange language. "What are we waiting for?" He drew his sword. "We need to…"

"We need to wait," Edmund hissed. "There's no good in charging in blind when we don't know what else beside Caspian and Nikabrik is in there. I only _think_ that there's a were-wolf and a hag. We need to be certain!"

"If there _is _a were-wolf and a hag, then we need to fight now!"

"How-," Trumpkin cut in, "Do you know it's a hag and a were-wolf?"

Edmund shot Trumpkin a look that ought to have been withering (and would have been if directed at someone other than the dwarf) and opened his mouth to say something but fell silent as the chanting in the room stopped with a crash and a strange crackling sound.

"Wait…" came a voice which could belong only to Caspian, "…this isn't what I wanted…"

Peter rolled his eyes. No surprises there. Even not knowing what it was that Caspian had gotten himself into Peter was not remotely astonished by the notion that it was a product of foolish mistakes on the Telmarine boy's part.

"One drop of Adam's blood and you free me…" came the reply and Peter froze as the chillingly familiar voice, one he would never forget, echoed from the chamber. "…Then I am yours my king."

Caspian's cry of 'No!' barely registered as Peter's every instinct went into overload, his mind filling with ideas on how to manage the situation. There were five in the room and three of them – if necessary Trumpkin could handle one of them and he and Ed could take two each. But if the witch _was_ in there then she would require more focus than any of the other potential opponents, being a far more challenging fight. If that was the case then Trumpkin and Edmund would have to take two each so he could focus on the witch. Then again Caspian might not be much of a threat – the Telmarine boy didn't sound (if the noises coming from the room where what he thought they were) like he was particularly keen on his current company in which case Peter could deal with the witch and leave Trumpkin and Edmund to deal with the other three.

"If she needs to be freed…" muttered Edmund, "Then she isn't free _yet_! That leaves us evenly numbered. The usual tactic?"

Their 'usual tactic' in situations where they were fighting with such numbers was to just engage whomever they encountered first. Peter didn't honestly consider it a tactical manoeuvre at all – more of a common sense idea – but nodded, charging into the chamber with Trumpkin hot on his heels and Edmund, presumably, close behind.

His assumption was confirmed as Edmund overtook the dwarf (even as they were still drawing their blades) and he raced forward to take on the (he had been correct, or at least Edmund had been, and he had been correct in agreeing) hag. He noted in his peripherals that the were-wolf seemed to have leapt clean over Edmund, that Trumpkin was engaging the dwarf Nikabrik, and that the witch did indeed seem to be incapacitated as she loomed in a block of ice. He didn't consider these facts deeply however as they were not necessary to his fight and therefore, in that instant, not necessary in his mind.

The hag wasn't any sort of outstanding opponent, neither a challenge nor easily defeated, she had even once successfully separated him from his weapon before he managed to finish her and fling her (a move partly out surprise as he heard Lucy's voice cry out – when had his littlest _sister _entered the fray?) against the wall. Now was his chance.

He rounded upon the witch, sword firmly back in hand, and knocked Caspian away from her urging murmurs.

"Get away from him!"

He felt no victory as the witch slipped back into her icy wall. If his previous experience with her was any guide then she certainly wasn't intimidated by him, just playing along. She'd returned to the ice because it suited her, it meant he had no way of wounding her, and the tender smile on her face unnerved him. Tempting though it was, he didn't look towards Caspian as the Telmarine boy lay dazed upon the ground – undoubtedly reeling from the push Peter had given him. He would defend this boy, that the Narnians wanted to be their king, but still scorned him, his own higher level of competence secured with the knowledge that Caspian had been so incapable of defending himself.

"Peter dear… I've missed you."

He fought the urge to recoil at her voice, all of its charm now directed at him, as she reached out, her delicate looking fingers pushing through the ice once more. There was no reason why she should have missed him, what good relation had they ever had? He'd certainly never missed her in all the years he'd spent free of her threats. It seemed, however, that she thought he could be lured in with the same tactic of compliments that had worked on Caspian.

"Come… just one drop."

He knew instantly that she was talking about his blood, as she had been with Caspian, - blood that had come from Adam and which she had so desperately wanted to spill into rivers when they had last met. Now she wanted only a droplet – something had changed, something he might be able to use to his advantage. A single drop of blood would make no real difference to him, and there was no denying that if she really did want to provide her aid then her power could support them in great ways. If _they_ had struggled to defeat her, then would chance would the Telmarines have? It would be so easy to give her the one little thing she wanted and she sounded so kind…

"You know you can't do this alone."

Oddly, it didn't sting. He felt no urge to defend his abilities or to insist he was more than capable of finding a way. He couldn't. She was right. He was alone and he didn't know what to do. And if she was right about that, then how many other things could she be right about? So many... And it wasn't like there was anybody else to help him, what with Caspian being so useless and the Narnians refusing to understand him. He relaxed his right arm – his sword slipping lower and lower under her gaze.

There was a sudden cracking sound. What was happening? Thin fissures began to form in the witch's ice, first from the her stomach, then fracturing out across her entire body as her face lost its friendly quality, filling instead with something that resembled cold fear. Her head fell back as she gave a pained gasp. The frosty chamber that held her ruptured, violently and completely – shattering with a bang and sending ice cascading to the ground.

Peter dropped down, coving his face with his arm, as the world outside of himself and _her_ slid back into focus. When had Caspian found his feet? What was _Edmund _doing in front of him? What had he…?

The witch, an enchantment; he gripped his lowered blade tightly although it was too late to make a difference to what had happened - she'd had him.

"I know," even now Edmund's voice sounded distant and fuzzy, "You had it sorted."

The world seemed to rock sideways as he took in what Edmund was stood before - what he had allowed the witch to obscure.

_Aslan_.

He turned as the sound of somebody moving about echoed in the rear of the chamber, Susan, standing there having clearly seen the incident, give him a look of disapproval before shaking her head and leaving.

He turned and made eye contact with Caspian. Every one of his decisions he now doubted, letting them fall under the scrutiny of the lion imprinted on the wall above them. This boy, this young man of the same bodily age as him, was the Narnians' chosen king. He, as High King of Narnia, had to support the wishes of the Narnian population. Instead he had derided Caspian as an interloper, ignored the consul of noble and intelligent subjects, and allowed a rift to grow between him and Aslan. Since the moment he had encountered Caspian he'd criticised the Telmarine boy's actions as ignorant and not remotely kingly - but were _his_ any better? He'd fallen under the witches spell, led the troops to slaughter, and placed a drain upon the hopes of their soldiers by making it clear that the Narnian monarchy were not a united force. He, experienced and educated, had acted at least as much of a child as Caspian had.

"I've…"

Caspian cut him off. "I should not have allowed Nikabrik to get so far in his dark plan – I failed to foresee his intentions."

Peter winced. Apparently Caspian was capable of shouldering some blame after all. The young Telmarine looked as guilt ridden as Peter felt, despite having less cause to, and it Peter knew that now was the time to confess to his own shortcomings.

"You should not have needed to have to deal with Nikabrik. Faith should have been kept and…" here came the hard part of dealing with what had happened, admitting his own failings, "I have not acted as my position a High King in recent times. Much trouble may have been avoided had I not erred."

"You are not alone in that."

Peter shook his head. It was proper of Caspian to make sure to uphold an equal share of the blame but the blame was not an equal thing. "I have been a king far longer than you have, better is expected of me and my failings, because of that, are all the greater."

He let his eyes flicker once again to the image of Aslan. He knew that he needed to talk more with Caspian; they could not win this battle unless the two of them could find some agreement, but right now all he wanted was to find a way to persuade Caspian to leave so that he could actually think. He could not afford to be rude or to reignite the conflict between them but he was in no mood for company at the present time. He needed to think.

Caspian caught his glance following it and then giving an understanding nod. "I think..." he hesitated, "I think that I would like to depart so as to… consider the happenings of today."

It wasn't really a question, just a delicately phrased statement, but Peter nodded mutely and watched as the young king left. After Caspian's footfalls had faded from his hearing he turned back to the carving of Aslan. Now he was looking at it he wondered how he could have not looked for it in the first place, or how he could have allowed the witch to obscure it. Somewhere, between leaving Narnia the previous time and arriving this time he had begun to go very wrong. Now he not only needed to figure out how he had gotten so far astray from his purpose, but how to get back.

It was time for him to reconsider what actions best befitted a king.

**_A/N. Dedicated to Jessica who left such a delightful review to 'The Actions of Kings' and requested I continue upon this idea. I'm not entirely sure I've done it justice but as I'd already been considering writing a take on another scene I wanted to give this a go immediately. It's mostly movie based but I've borrowed a few ideas from the book to fill in the gaps and I've tried to avoid letting Edmund steal the limelight in this and focus on the symbolism of the witch and Aslan although I struggled to find ways to redirect Peter's attention to Caspian as much as I would have liked. _Edited to fix my 'wulf' and 'wolf' mistake (I have no idea why I thought it ought to be spelt that way… I'm going to blame exams and the things they've done to my brain) and extended and adjusted in parts which felt awkward.**


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